The corpse of the university floats face down in the water, W. says. We’re poking it with sticks. says. None of us can believe it. Is it really dead, the university? Is that really its bloated, blue-faced corpse? Yes, it really is dead, and there it is, floating, face down, W. says. There’s no point pretending otherwise, not anymore. The university is dead, and there is its corpse.
Oh, there are signs of life in the university, W. says. It seems that it’s alive. But that life is the life of maggots, he says, devouring the substance of the university from the inside, living on its rotting.
The corpse of the university is a breeding ground, W. says. The corpse is where Capital comes to lay its eggs. The university is that rotten place where Capital deposits its eggs …
Lars Iyer's Blog 